


we want to live like trees

by andibeth82



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Female Friendship, Post-Black Panther (2018), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Some missions but mostly feelings because Natasha has a lot of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 19:03:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13981368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/pseuds/andibeth82
Summary: “Oh great,” Shuri says, rolling her eyes. “Another know-it-all white girl --”“No,” Natasha interrupts, stepping forward before Shuri can decide to walk away. “That’s not why I’m here. Please, can I come in?”





	we want to live like trees

**Author's Note:**

> This fic primarily came out of three things: a need to see more female friendships between the Avengers after Black Panther, a feeling that Natasha would really be intrigued by the stuff Shuri and Nakia were doing, and my constant fixation on exploring Natasha's character post Civil War given how little we saw of her after the airport battle. It was also an attempt to pull together some explanation for things that just kind of appear in these movies without much backstory, namely, new suits/weapons (which I found interesting given the end of Black Panther.)
> 
> The events in this, specifically the events at the beginning of the story, are based on the canon provided in the Avengers Infinity War prelude comic that fills in the blanks for what everyone was doing after Civil War. Also, this was written before all these reports of the "2-3 years post Civil War" timeline came out, so do with that what you will. (Is there any semblance of timing in the MCU, anyway?) 
> 
>  
> 
> __
> 
> _“No one has imagined us. We want to live like trees,_  
>  sycamores blazing through the sulfuric air,  
> dappled with scars, still exuberantly budding,  
> our animal passion rooted in the city.”  
> ― Adrienne Rich, The Dream of a Common Language

 

They drop Wanda off in Bucharest.

She requests it, even though she’s still weak and confused thanks to her imprisonment. While the rest of Team Cap had been kept in large cells -- annoyingly trapped but otherwise unharmed -- Wanda had been placed in a separate block, immobilized with a shock collar to keep her and her powers from being used.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Natasha asks as they walk off the quinjet together.

Wanda nods. “Yes. I just need to stay here for awhile and see an old friend...he will help me.”

Natasha hugs her tightly. Her mouth aches with apologies she can’t articulate, fears that she wishes she had divulged and advice that she wishes she had been able to give before all of this got shot to shit, because Wanda wasn’t a kid anymore but she deserved more than a life in hiding and a target on her head for no reason.

 

***

 

They drop Scott off in the middle of the California desert.

“It’s only about one hundred miles or so from here to Cassie,” Scott says, shielding his eyes. He’d shed his prison uniform for some of Tony’s old clothes that happened to still be in the quinjet but he still looks tired and worried, and Natasha doesn’t blame him. Whether or not Ross was openly looking for them, the fear and the worry was palpable. And it’s not like Scott only had himself to look out for.

“I think I’m going to just go to the authorities and turn myself in,” Scott says nonchalantly.

Natasha blinks in surprise. “What?”

“It’s not a big deal. I mean, what’s the worst that happens? They send me back to the Raft?” Scott shrugs. “I’ll probably get an ankle bracelet or something, but it’s nothing I haven’t had before. I’d rather show my face if I know I’m going to be looked for.”

“Is that…” Natasha trails off. “Is that what you want?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Scott smiles. “I’d rather be with my daughter, though. So whatever happens now, it’s worth it.”

 

***

 

They drop Clint off five hours from the farm on the tarmac of a remote airport. Steve and Sam don’t follow Natasha as she accompanies Clint off the quinjet, almost as if they know she needs the time alone and they shouldn’t infringe.

“Will you be okay?”

Looking at his face hurts; the dark bruise from the airport fight and red scratches etched into his body are stark reminders of what she’s put there.

“I don’t know,” Clint says honestly, shifting weight from one foot to the other. “But I need to go home.”

Natasha hugs him tightly, feeling relieved when he reciprocates. “Make sure everyone is okay. Please.”

“I’m going to make sure they’re safe,” Clint confirms, his eyes turning towards the sky. “And move them if they’re not. We’ll figure it out.”

Natasha presses a small button into his palm and Clint looks down in surprise. “I had Tony make it after Ultron, in case we were ever compromised again,” Natasha explains. “Press it and it sends a signal to wherever I am, even if it’s a burner phone that’s encrypted. You’ll always be able to get in touch with me, emergency or not.”

Clint smiles, closing his fingers around the device. “Will _you_ be okay?”

Natasha shakes her head, wishing she could lie. “I don’t know.”

Clint frowns. “I could stay, you know. I’m already a fugitive, and you could probably use a hand.”

“I could go home with you. I’m a trained agent who has experience moving targets under fire, and you could probably use a hand.” She rocks up on her toes, kissing him on the cheek. “Go _home_ , Clint. You’ll know where to find me.”

It hurts when she leaves Clint behind. It hurts more than she wants to admit. She says a silent prayer for Clint and Laura and Cooper and Lila and Nathaniel, and then sits back while Steve flies them confidently through the sky.

 

***

 

The quinjet drops them off on a deserted landing strip in Utah -- a long-abandoned airfield on the side of Route 191 -- and they file off one by one, as if they’re soldiers walking into a line of fire.

“I feel like I’m saying goodbye to an old friend,” laments Steve as he watches the quinjet disappear into stealth mode.

“Really, Rogers.” Natasha rolls her eyes. “For someone who grew up in the early 1900’s, you shouldn’t be so dependent on technology.”

Steve glares in her direction, looking like he wants to make an equally scathing retort, but sighs instead. Natasha manages to smile; she’s been trying to shift her mind back into mission mode which should _technically_ be easy. But there’s something nagging at the back of her brain that’s making her pause, and she can’t figure out what it is.

“So what’s our plan of action?”

“I need food,” Natasha announces. “And a new disguise.”

“Sure,” Sam cuts in sarcastically. “Let’s find a Target, walk in and have everyone stare at Captain America, and call it a day.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I don’t expect _you_ to go to Target,” Natasha replies crossly. “We also need to find a place to stay, at least for a little bit. I’m exhausted, and I need a shower.”

“That’s a lot of things we need on short notice,” Sam points out as Natasha shoves her phone in his direction.

Sam easily locates a two-star hotel by the name of Blue Mountain Horsehead Inn five minutes from their location and they set out together, walking quietly beside each other. Every so often, a car rumbles down the street, slowing just enough for the driver to stare in curiosity at the three people making their way down an otherwise deserted road, before speeding up and continuing on their way. In mostly comfortable civvies, Natasha feels a little less visible than she knows Sam must feel in his prison uniform and Steve must feel in a black stealth suit. But she finds herself on edge nonetheless thinking of Scott and Wanda and Clint, wondering how easily they’re going to be able to rebuild their lives, especially in Clint’s case where his entire family had potentially been threatened.

The sky is a calm shade of aqua, and Natasha thinks that the weather is more tranquil than it’s been in a long time. She wonders how long she’ll be able to look at the sky like this, feeling free and at ease, without wondering if she has a target painted on her back. It’s no different than the past 33 years of her life but goddamn, she wishes she could be afforded a break.

“So what’s on Natasha Romanoff’s mind?” Steve asks once they’re a decent distance from the landing strip and Natasha thinks she would laugh if she didn’t know Steve was beginning to learn how to read her.

“Thoughts,” she replies evasively. “We’re all a mess right now, aren’t we?”

Steve exhales slowly. “I think that’s a nice way of putting it. But hey, at least the world’s not ending, right?”

At the inn, Natasha uses her credit card to pay for a room with one bed (“I don’t think it’s a good idea to split up right now and you were in your own jail cell for two days so let it go Wilson,” she says when she sees Sam’s mouth start to open after she secures the key) and resists the urge to collapse on the bed after they walk inside. Sam immediately glances at the door to the left of the closet.

“Look, I don’t mean to be an asshole about this, but I just came from jail. So if no one else is up for a shower --”

“Go for it,” Steve interrupts with a smile. “Knock yourself out.”

Sam gives a thumbs up and disappears, closing the door behind him. Natasha waits until she hears the water running before she lets herself relax, sitting down on the shoddy mattress. The springs are rusty and old but the room itself is actually quite nice, recently remodeled with new light fixtures and freshly painted walls. It looks entirely out of place against the old pieces of furniture and thin rug and it reminds of her of herself, someone _else_ who is trying to fit in somewhere again for the upteenth time.

“Hey.”

Natasha looks up. Steve’s beard is starting to grow in, a whisper of stubble sprinkled across his lower jaw, and it looks like there’s a constant shadow over his face.

You sure you want to do this?”

“It’s nothing new,” Natasha says tiredly. “I was on my own more or less after SHIELD fell.”

“I’m not asking if you’re okay,” Steve says and Natasha suddenly feels like it’s three years ago and they’re sitting in Sam’s apartment, having just escaped a narrow death. “I’m asking if you want to do this.”

Natasha hesitates and thinks of Clint and Wanda and of all the people who don’t get to walk free thanks to a decision she made when her heart was too big to handle being broken. “Yeah,” she says after a moment. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Steve confirms, all soldier and suave. “So let’s get ready to be fugitives.”

 

***

 

When Natasha was let into the wild from the comfort of the Red Room, she had an agenda. She knew exactly what she was supposed to do but it didn’t mean that she was going to follow her plan blindly. There was no guarantee she wouldn’t get killed herself if she didn’t watch her back.

She had an agenda when she was sent after SHIELD to steal from them. She had an agenda when Clint offered her refuge and a different kind of ledger to wipe clean than the red she had spent years painting across the world. She had an agenda the first time she was introduced to Laura, the calm counterpoint of Clint’s crazy life. The point is, Natasha has never _not_ done anything in her life without a plan, even when she couldn’t make an accurate assessment about how things would turn out. And so even though they’re technically on the run as fugitives from the government and from the world, she’s not letting them run wild without a roadmap.

She emerges from the bathroom later that night with bleached blonde hair that she’s sheared short to her chin, and Steve’s eyebrows lift when he sees her.

“That’s....new,” he remarks slowly. Sam snorts in the corner where he’s picking at the hem of his prison clothes.

“Nice look, Natasha Drew Romanoff.”

“Sam, there are some clothes that should fit you in my bag,” Natasha says, ignoring both of their comments. Sam gives her an incredulous look.

“You couldn’t have told me, like, five _hours_ ago that you were carrying around a change of clothes?”

“No, because I wasn’t about to have you strip in the middle of the road,” Natasha responds, watching him loot through her bag. She sits down on the bed, continuing to towel the damp ends of her hair, until he comes away with one of Clint’s long-sleeved shirts and a pair of loose-fitting jeans.

“Keep looking,” Natasha continues. “There’s something else in there you might like.”

Sam unearths a half-filled bottle of whiskey and his eyes go wide before crinkling around the edges.

“Jesus, Nat. You really _do_ prepare for everything.”

“I try.” She takes the bottle from his outstretched hand and upcaps it, drinking steadily. “Unfortunately, just because we’re fugitives doesn’t mean that the world stops doing bad things. So we don’t exactly get a break.”

Sam winces as Steve takes the bottle from her. “And what are we responsible for?”

After she had split from Tony, Natasha had forced herself to go on with her life as if nothing was wrong. She called Maria Hill and had her wire funds into the secret account that her and Clint opened years ago for undercover purposes but never actually closed for fail-safe purposes, she secured a few extra credit cards under the names of old aliases, and she packed a small bag of civilian clothing, grabbing whatever she could find in the short time she knew she had before people would come looking for her. She was already settled in an old bolthole, having looked up a few stray leads that she was planning to take care of on her own, when her phone rang with Steve saying he had a plan for breaking Clint and everyone else out of the Raft.

“Someone is selling Chitauri tech and using it to make weapons,” Natasha says, opening a file on her tablet and handing Steve.

“I thought all the Chitauri tech was destroyed after Hydra,” Steve says. He’s sitting on the floor beside the bed, legs folded comfortably and shirt off, his brows creasing as he studies the tablet.

Natasha shakes her head. “Apparently not. Or at least, enough of it remained for certain people to get their hands on it.” She leans over and swipes at a photo, but Steve only looks more confused.

“You don’t recognize him, do you?”

“What?” Steve looks at over Sam, who shrugs. “No. Should I?”

Natasha swipes again, and Steve swears under his breath as he takes in what Natasha knows is a photo of Peter Parker engaged in battle with the same man he’d been looking at previously, just more heavily armed.

“What the fuck?”

Natasha hides a smile, because Steve swearing is something that she thinks she might never get over. “Apparently, this is what the kid from Queens was doing while we were busting everyone out of jail,” she says. “Although the consensus is that that guy stole this stuff way before Parker became Spider-Man; it would have to have been pretty much right after the Battle of New York. He must have been selling these things on the black market for years.”

“In other words, who knows where they could’ve ended up...and whose hands they could’ve ended up in,” Steve concludes, rapt understanding dawning in his eyes.

“So, wait.” Sam picks up the bottle. “You’re saying that this black market alien tech stuff has been going on for years but it’s just coming on our radar _now_?”

“Now that we actually have time to look because we’re not saving the world from robots and aliens and we’re not at each other’s throats for stupid reasons?” Natasha asks pointedly, watching Sam drink. “Yes.”

Steve’s frown becomes more prominent. “Nat, look. I’m all for continuing to protect the world, especially when we’re supposed to be grounded. But just because there are reports of this stuff doesn’t mean we even know where they are. They could be anywhere.”

“Well, Rogers.” Natasha smiles. “That’s why I still have KGB contacts who perform well when I threaten them to pass me information.” She takes pride in the looks she sees on both Steve and Sam’s faces; it makes her feel good that she can have _some_ measure of control over this situation when everything inside her is screaming that she’s incompetent and screwed up.

“And where does that information take us?”

“Syria,” she answers, looking Sam straight in the eye. “There are terrorist cells there that have apparently been receiving illegal shipments from America, and it’s not hard to guess what we’re supplying them with.”

“Corruption within our government,” Steve mutters, rubbing the bottom of his beard. “Why am I not surprised.”

“Which is why we need to take care of this before it spreads,” Natasha says. “We leave tomorrow.”

“Christ, Natasha.” Steve barks out a laugh. “Why did we even bother to spend money on a hotel?”

“Because I’m tired and I’m not about to sleep on a quinjet, and because Sam needed a shower,” Natasha responds.

 _Because I need to feel normal for at least one night_ , she thinks to herself, but doesn’t dare say out loud.

 

***

 

She dreams about all the people she can’t and didn’t save.

Clint and Scott and Wanda -- Pietro and Rhodey and her mom and dad -- Lila and Cooper and Laura and Nathaniel. She sees everyone’s faces; she reaches out but she can’t touch them and they all give her disappointed looks as they fade into the distance. _You should have done more,_ they say as they disappear in front of her. _You chose the wrong side. You’re supposed to be doing more..._

She wakes up with a dry throat and realizes she’s been holding in choked sobs, which makes her feel even more pathetic.

Steve’s sleeping on the floor, arms flung over his head, and Sam’s on a cot that they’d managed to talk the staff into give them. Natasha wishes she could talk to Clint, because Clint always understood when she felt vulnerable. But he’s home, where he’s supposed to be right now, and she knows she can’t ask him to leave again just because she’s feeling shitty and needs comfort.

Besides, she’s never _not_ been able to handle her shit on her own before.

She manages to fall back asleep and wakes up again not long after Steve has left for what she assumes is his morning run. Her assumptions are confirmed when he walks back into the room twenty minutes later, looking barely winded, even though Natasha’s pretty sure he ran at least ten miles.

“Don’t tell me it’s not safe to be outside,” Steve warns as he wipes the smallest amount of sweat off his forehead.

“No,” Natasha replies. “I was going to ask if you brought me coffee.”

“Ugh,” Same mumbles from the cot, pulling the covers over his head with a grunt.

Steve showers while Natasha finds complementary and bland-tasting coffee in the hotel lobby. When she returns to the room, Sam’s up and pacing.

“What’s wrong?” Natasha asks, seeing the tell-tale look of worry spread across his face.

“You suppose we’re going to Syria with any weapons or protection?” he asks, gesturing to his body.

“No,” Natasha confirms. “It’s not like we have much, anyway.”

Sam looks even more concerned at her words. “But --”

“ _And_ we’re supposed to be incognito, running this mission without anyone knowing that we’re operating underground,” Natasha continues. “Suits and weapons won’t help keep us off the radar. It’s not like you don’t know how to defend yourself without a suit, Sam.”

Before Sam can find another point to argue, the door opens and Steve walks out of the steam-filled bathroom. Natasha stares at his bare chest -- stark, bulging, untouched despite the hits she knows he took in Siberia that he won’t talk about -- and thinks of her own scars that will never heal.

“No weapons,” he says before putting his shirt back on. “Undercover only. We’re on our own, now.”

Natasha turns her head, the cup of coffee she’s holding suddenly heavy in her palms. She feels a hand on her back, warm and firm.

“You okay?”

“One hundred percent,” Natasha replies automatically, looking up and flashing a smile at Steve. She knows he won’t believe her and honestly, it makes her feel a little better to know she can so blatantly lie and she won’t get called out completely.

Before they officially head off, Natasha grabs another cup of coffee, and they start the walk back to the airfield where they’ve left the quinjet. She opens the floodgates when they’re safely aboard, back in stealth mode above the sky, having set coordinates for Syria with Sam piloting.

“What happened in Siberia?”

Steve glances at her in. “You don’t know?”

“Considering I left after the airport fight because I was threatened that I would have a target on my head, why would I know?” Natasha replies bluntly.

Steve hesitates, then tells her. He tells her how Tony had found out the real truth about Zemo, how Bucky had been a set-up, how he had gone to him with the intent to apologize. He tells her about the fight in the bunker, about Bucky’s arm and losing his shield. He tells her that Bucky killed Howard and Maria, and her breath catches in her throat. It’s not like she didn’t know -- she thinks she’s always known, actually -- but hearing it is a confirmation that she realizes she never wanted.

“Tony thought Bucky deserved to die for what he did,” Steve adds after a long pause. “He would’ve killed him, if I hadn’t bested him. But Bucky didn’t know what he was doing when he was programmed. He went after Howard because Howard had things that people wanted...he was just following orders. Everything was numbers and kills and nothing...that wasn’t my best friend doing those things. That wasn’t the person who didn’t leave me alone after my mom died, you know?”

Instinct overwhelms her and she bites down on _it’s not his fault_ because even though she thinks Steve would agree with her, she doesn’t want to start anything. In doing so, her anger returns. Tony clearly didn’t know any of this before he snapped at her but that was still no excuse for how he made her feel. She wasn’t just some teammate who he didn’t understand. She’d known him for years, and she’d seen him at his most vulnerable. He’d seen _her_ at her most vulnerable, even if she hid it from him.

“We’ve all lost someone.”

Natasha thinks of two weathered headstones with faded writing. The names of her parents had barely been visible underneath all the moss and dirt that covered the graves, and no one except her would ever know who they were, why they were there, or how they died.

“We all deserve our closure for things we didn’t do.”

 

***

 

By the time they land, Natasha’s mapped out where the weapons exchange will take place and how they’ll infiltrate.

“We’ll team up with the Kurds. Kurdish fighters,” she clarifies off Steve and Sam’s looks. “The U.S. is arming them in Syria, but they’re also pretty much terrorists in Turkey, so...it’s a little ambiguous right now whether they’re considered an independence movement or terrorists.”

“And how does that help us?” Steve asks, looking at the robes and scarves that Natasha has procured for them.

“It protects you,” Natasha explains. “Because no one wants to get close to you if there’s even a _hint_ of you collaborating with the Kurds. Anyway, thanks to my sources, I’ve been able to track the group making the trade. They’re supposed to meet two men who will help with the exchange, which is where you come in.”

“So what happens when these guys inevitably realize we’re probably _not_ who we’re supposed to be?” Sam asks.

“My sources have taken care of that,” Natasha says smoothly. “Just focus on getting in and infiltrating.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “And you?”

“I’m staying here.” Natasha passes them small comm devices. “I’ll be able to direct you so you can track the arrival, and I can also make sure you don’t die.”

“Wow, you do care,” Sam says sarcastically as they don their disguises.

Natasha smiles and secures a comm device in her ear, setting up her tablet and balancing it on her legs as she gets comfortable in the pilot seat. Once they’ve left her alone, she turns her attention to the two small dots moving across her screen.

At SHIELD, she hated having to do things like this. There was a long period of time, before Strike Team Delta, where she had been forced to do ops that kept her out of the action. Most of them were around when Clint brought her in, because she wasn’t trained yet and she knew no one trusted her to be in the field alone. To keep herself from being bitter about being relegated to what she considered “grunt work,” she told herself she was doing this because she was smarter and more intelligent than anyone else in the organization, even foul-faced Maria Hill -- who never seemed to smile, but who Natasha knew from hacking into her files had graduated from the training academy at the absolute highest level.

Right now, though, she doesn’t mind being behind the scenes. She doubts she’d be very good at focusing and it’s comforting to be in control, even if it means she’s alone with her thoughts. Natasha keeps her focus on the tablet, watching Sam and Steve’s heat signatures.

“Trucks just passed,” she confirms as a blinking dot appears, making a steady line down the screen. “The weapons should be in the big one with two guards on top. Follow and meet them when they’re ready to make the trade. It looks like they’re heading to a building a few miles from here, which is probably where they’ll set up shop.”

“And say what?” Steve mutters, his voice low and raspy.

“Hell if I know,” Natasha replies. “They’re aiding war profiteers, Steve. Improvise.”

She goes back to listening, and eventually hints of sharp Arabic bleed through the comms, followed by Steve’s voice -- which, Natasha notices with some pride, is adding to the conversation in nearly fluent Arabic.

“Bingo,” she says out loud with a bit of pride as the dots start going haywire on the tablet, indicating rapid movement. Maybe if she ever felt like she could make a difference again, she would rethink always being out in the field.

“Nat.” Steve sounds out of breath, and she can hear Sam still fighting behind him as his comm switches on. “You were right -- the weapon they were transporting was powered by Chitauri tech.”

“I’m always right,” Natasha responds. “The important question is, can you dismantle it? We’re going to have to render that thing useless before we can dispose of it, otherwise this whole mission was for nothing.”

“Sam’s on it already,” Steve replies. “We should be back to you shortly.”

“Copy that.”

Natasha leaves the comm on but diverts her attention from the tablet. She picks up her phone and hovers her thumb over a few buttons, feeling wistful.

She could call Clint. She could call Tony. She doesn’t know if she even wants to call them, though. Everyone was dealing with their own shit right now. And according to Tony, she’d already muddied enough of her relationships and she certainly didn’t need to keep fucking them over.

She puts the phone down, settling in to wait for Steve and Sam to return.

 

***

 

In Lebanon, the weapons are loaded into coffins.

It’s the same routine, and it takes them even less time to infiltrate, fight, and dismantle the technology that the terrorist cell had been smuggling. Afterwards, Steve and Sam decide to celebrate with a few drinks and Natasha’s blonde hair comes in handy when she decides to join them, though it takes her a few gulps of whiskey to feel as optimistic as she knows her friends are feeling.

They do the same thing in Jordan, and it’s not until they reach Iraq that Natasha starts to realize this isn’t working.

It’s not the missions -- they’re actually making good time with tracking all the smuggled weapons, and Steve and Sam are so efficient at what they’re doing that they’re able to get in and out of a situation before being discovered. Natasha’s not dumb enough to know these moves are being recorded by a higher power somewhere in the government, but she also knows they should be well out of range by the time anything goes down.

No, it’s not the missions. It’s the fact that she still feels what she’s felt since Tony snapped at her in Berlin and since she rescued her friends from the Raft and left Clint standing in a field in the middle of the Midwest. She feels empty, alone, and if she’s being honest, a little bit bored. She’s not exactly sure what she’s supposed to do with herself. She tries to tell herself that she’s doing good work and that all of this has a purpose, but as much as she knows she’s keeping the world safe, she can’t understand why -- or who she’s doing it for.

She thought that still being active again would make her feel better, and that she would be making a difference. But the truth is, it doesn’t make her feel anything at all.

“Hey, you coming?”

Natasha looks up from where she’s placed her chin in her hands as Steve walks into the room of the small safe house. She shakes her head.

“I think I’m going to head to bed early,” she lies. “You go out. Take Sam.”

Steve nods and ducks out of the room. Two seconds later, he’s back, poking his head around the corner of the door frame.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Natasha sighs. “Why would I _not_ be okay, Steve?”

He shrugs, concern etched into his features. “Just...it’s not like you to not be so invested about things. You were so into all these missions when we started.”

“And I’m not into them now?” Natasha asks. Steve raises an eyebrow and Natasha knows he’s heard the danger in her voice.

“Look, if it’s Clint I --”

“It’s not Clint,” Natasha interrupts. “It’s not like I’ve never been in the field without him. I’m just tired and I have to do some recon for the next mission, anyway.” She waves her hand around. “Go. Relax. Be a person for awhile instead of a machine.”

She can tell he still doesn’t believe her but at least he has the sense to keep his mouth shut as he leaves the room. Natasha relaxes a little more in the aftermath of their departure, sighs rippling through her body and threading through her veins. She takes advantage of the quiet, sitting for awhile before she gets up and starts cleaning a few messes in the kitchen. When she gets tired, she fixes herself a makeshift hot toddy from the few ingredients they have and settles on the couch with the television remote.

She’d come here with Clint once and he’d been shocked to find out that Natasha kept a cable bill for this particular place. After all, “it’s not like this is a safe house in some nice country where you’d want to hang out forever.” Natasha understood why it threw him but it was one of her quirks. She liked having a luxury, especially in a place where luxuries were hard to come by.

She starts channel surfing, idly passing through reruns of old sitcoms, cooking shows, and home shopping programs. She stops when she comes across a broadcast on one of the news channels.

“Wakanda will no longer watch from the shadows. We cannot. We must not. We will work to be an example of how we as brothers and sisters on this Earth should treat each other. Now, more than ever, the illusions of division threaten our very existence…”

Natasha leans forward on her hands, watching as T’Challa sits tall and regal, speaking to a sea of older white men. She instantly recognizes the building; she recognizes Okoye of the Dora Milaje standing by her king. At the end of T’Challa’s speech, someone in the audience asks what Wakanda has to offer. T’Challa simply smiles.

Natasha raises her eyebrows.

“Well,” she decides, speaking out loud to the empty room. “This changes things.”

 

***

 

She tells Steve and Sam that she’ll be back. She’d just as well tell them that she’s leaving for good, though she knows that wouldn’t be a fair statement or even a true one. Just like the Accords, just like Ultron, just like Siberia, she’d be back. She’d always be back. The question was, what was she coming back for at this point?

Steve accepts her explanation of needing to go off on her own with little pushback. “If that’s what you want,” he says, locking eyes to show that he seriously understands. Sam’s a little less easy to placate and Natasha’s not at all surprised.

“I don’t get it,” he says with a frown. “You drag us all the way out here because you say we should be protecting the world since no one else is gonna do it...now you’re all for bolting?”

“No,” Natasha says. “Just because I’m leaving doesn’t mean that _you_ have to stop doing this. And you shouldn’t stop. There are more weapons out there. But you don’t need me.”

“Says the girl who’s been coordinating all of our missions so we don’t get killed,” Sam argues.

“Don’t be melodramatic, Wilson. I’m not leaving two kids who have no experience in tactical defense.” She pauses. “Steve can run recon, and it’s not like I’m leaving for good. I’m just taking a break. You’ll know where to find me.”

“Yeah?” Sam stretches out on the bed, clasping his hands behind his head and giving her a look. “And where’s that?”

Natasha smiles. “California.”

Sam snorts. “California.”

“A Wakandan Outreach Program,” Natasha clarifies. “The first, with more on the way. Founded by T’Challa’s sister Shuri.”

Sam sits up, regarding Natasha carefully. “So you’re just going to show up there and hang out?”

“I’m going to visit and see what they’re working on, because I think we should be aware of developments that are being made by people who share this part of our world,” Natasha corrects. “Besides, I think we owe it to Wakanda to show that we can be allies after what happened in Berlin.”

“And what makes you think Wakanda wants anything to do with us after _what_ we did in Berlin?” Sam counters.

“Because.” Natasha smiles grimly, crossing her arms. “Chitauri weapons are one thing, but I have a bad feeling that things are about to get darker. And I’m not going to let another stupid rift be the cause of our death.”

 

***

 

Sam and Steve offer to put aside a day of searching for Chitauri weapons so they can fly her to Oakland in the quinjet, on the condition that she doesn’t pull a post Hydra dump and disappear completely.

“We still need you, you know,” Steve says as the land in what looks like a rehabilitated part of an inner city neighborhood, near a basketball court that seems like it’s seen better days. He glances around as Natasha walks off the landing pad, and then up at the large row of apartment buildings.

Natasha smiles wryly as she uses the toe of her boot to crush a still-smoking cigarette blocking her path. “Rogers, after all these years, you think I don’t _know_ that?”

She hugs them both before they leave and then takes a breath, letting it out slowly. As the quinjet rises and disappears into the sky, she stands at the door to the building, wondering if she should knock or if it’s appropriate to just walk in. Before she can decide what to do, the door opens and a dark-skinned woman walks out. Natasha manages to catch it before it closes and then looks at the plaque installed on the wall of the lobby once she gets inside. She climbs the stairs to the second floor, surprised to be met with two glass doors. Unlike the front door of the building, these are crisp and clean and clearly new. Natasha’s well aware of places being smoke screens for more important ventures, but the contrast between the dilapidated building and the shiny, high-tech office she’s staring at makes her pause.

Natasha presses a button and waits. A few moments later, a dark-skinned girl with hair pulled into two sharp buns appears on the other side of the glass doors. Natasha tries to hide her surprise; she isn’t sure what she’s expected but not only is the girl in front of her definitely not a Dora Milaje, she also looks like she’s about fifteen.

“Yes?” she asks in an accented voice that Natasha knows is custom of Wakandans, and Natasha is surprised that she can clearly hear her through the glass, as if she’s standing directly in front of her with no barrier. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Shuri?”

Shuri looks taken aback at the question. “Yes,” she answers slowly. “Who are you?”

Natasha squares her shoulders. “I’m Natasha Romanoff. I was -- I’m an Avenger. I was at the Accords signing with your brother when your father was killed, and your brother and I worked together for a little while.”

“Oh great,” Shuri says, rolling her eyes. “Another know-it-all white girl --”

“No,” Natasha interrupts, stepping forward before Shuri can decide to walk away. “That’s not why I’m here. Please, can I come in?”

Shuri gives Natasha an annoyed look inherent of a teenager but nods, pressing another button that allows the glass doors to open soundlessly. Natasha glances around and her first instinct is to ask what the hell is going on, because while she knew what T’Challa’s country could offer in terms of technology, she’d never seen technology like this. Everything is clean and white and upscale, and the monitors she passes look more advanced than anything Tony could make. As Shuri leads Natasha through the facility, she finds herself becoming more and more awed. It’s set up similar to the way things had been set up in upstate’s New Avengers Facility -- teams of people at computers tracking information and a few closed doors that Natasha notices have security protocols on them, probably to keep people away from whatever tech is being secretly created.

When Shuri leads Natasha into her small office, Natasha finds herself even more surprised. It’s filled with gadgets and computers and a large coffee maker that’s so shiny and complicated-looking, Natasha thinks that Clint would laugh at its ridiculousness. There’s a poster of Beyonce on the wall and another one of The Weeknd, a glowing red lava lamp on the desk, and a stuffed teddy bear with a tie-dyed shirt sitting next to it. Natasha takes in this measure of teenage normalcy nestled into a someplace that looks like it’s the lab of a 60-year-old genius.

“Favorites?” she asks as she sits down, gesturing to the posters on the wall. Shuri gives a hint of a girlish smile.

“Everyone thought that we were this naive country with nothing to offer the world. They thought Wakanda was so removed and primitive. We were simply creating things that no one else could dream of creating.” Shuri pauses and her grin widens. “And I managed to find ways to enjoy American culture in ways that my family did not exactly understand.”

“In-N-Out?”

“What?”

It’s Natasha’s turn to grin. “In-N-Out. Nevermind. It’s a burger place here that you should try sometime.”

“Sometime,” Shuri echoes. “I appreciate the recommendation. Why are you here, Natasha Romanoff?”

Natasha hesitates before she speaks. “I, uh. I assume you don’t know what happened when your brother teamed up with us.”

“He had some fight in Europe,” Shuri replies. “And then he brought two outsiders to our country. A man who he claimed had worked with our vibranium and a broken white boy whose brain I had to rewire. That was actually kind of fun.”

 _Steve and Bucky_ , Natasha thinks as it dawns on her that these were some of the details Steve had conveniently left out in their conversation about what had happened in and after Siberia.

“Some of my friends were captured by the government after that fight and put in prison,” Natasha says, leaning back in her chair. “I helped break them out, and now they’re trying to get back to their lives. The rest of us weren’t allowed to work as a team anymore because of new regulations, but I’ve been running some underground ops. We were overseas when I saw your brother’s press conference at the U.N., about how you’re opening up your country to share your resources.”

“So you lied -- you’re here because you do need Wakanda’s help,” Shuri surmises.

“No,” says Natasha. “I didn’t lie. This outreach program -- it’s the first?”

“It is not just an outreach program,” Shuri says proudly. “It is the Wakandan Outreach Center’s technology and information training sector. But yes, it is the first of what I hope will be many more.”

Natasha nods. “I didn’t come here to ask you for help,” she says. “I’m not running any more missions...not right now. I came here because I want to see what you’re doing. I want to know what Wakanda is doing. I want to learn, not take.”

“And you have no interest in using any of our technology to further your own pursuits,” Shuri presses doubtfully, leaning on her elbows. Natasha can’t blame her for being wary; even if she didn’t know about the bad parts of Natasha’s past, it’s not like Americans didn’t have a reputation for being selfish and untrustworthy.

Natasha shakes her head. “Winning wars -- however right or wrong you can win them -- isn’t for me.”

Shuri narrows her eyes in thought. “We usually do not take in random strangers off the streets, even if they claim to know our families,” she says. “But my brother is a bit of an idiot, and he always liked blondes. Let me see what I can do.”

 

***

 

Shuri provides Natasha with a tiny room that reminds her of her early SHIELD days. For all that the establishment is state-of-the-art, her room doesn’t have much except for a cot, a small attached bathroom, a desk, and a closet. But it’s enough for Natasha, who realizes she doesn’t need much as long as she has someplace to crash.

For the first few days, she keeps to herself, sleeping in and showering and not bothering people. If anyone questions a strange new person wandering around their building, they don’t say anything, and she assumes either Shuri gave them a heads up or they just don’t care. Natasha stays her distance and uses her spy skills to learn from the people around her without poking her nose where it doesn’t belong, and stays noncommittal about getting involved in any kind of research or mission. She eats alone and only interacts with Shuri when she needs to ask how to get into a room that’s secured, or for directions around the building. One day, she comes across Shuri singing to herself, bent over the table in her design lab. It’s not until Natasha gets closer that she realizes Shuri isn’t singing but talking animatedly, giggling and chatting via some sort of enhanced hologram. She starts to back away, not wanting to interrupt, but Shuri suddenly looks up and catches her eye.

“Sorry,” she apologies after she ends the call abruptly. “Nakia calls me often. I think she gets bored.”

Natasha nods, not following up about who Nakia is. “What are you working on?”

“This?” Shuri looks down at her work space. “It is an upgrade of some localized EMP discs. I made them and then I improved them after my brother’s first few missions, and now I’m improving them again. I think I can make them even better. T’Challa doesn’t believe me when I tell him I can keep improving things. He thinks it’s a waste of time to make things better when they already work well. But he should believe me, because I keep proving him wrong. Like I said.” Shuri pauses to grin. “Idiotic.”

Natasha takes a seat on one of the stools near Shuri’s table. “Do you ever interact with the people around here? I mean, the locals or people outside of the program?”

“All the time,” Shuri answers. “We have been trying to host more groups here -- not only the inner city kids who might not get to see stuff like this all the time but also young children who are interested in science and technology. We’ve kept so much from this world for so long, it is nice to be able to finally share it.”

“Do you…” Natasha trails off. “Do you ever do things out of the lab? Like training, or recon?”

“Sometimes,” Shuri says. “But Nakia is really the person for that. She runs undercover missions all around the world, helping people who are in trouble. I tease that she likes America more than she likes her own country, which _would_ be true except she still wants to bang my brother so she can’t hate us entirely.” Shuri stops talking so she can concentrate on an edit she’s making to one of the dozens of glowing lights on the EMP. “I read your files,” she continues. “My brother sent them over when I told him you were here. It seems you are very self-sufficient...I believe his words about you and I believe that you do not want to take advantage of us, Natasha Romanoff. But you seem pretty put together. So what can the Black Widow hope to learn from a group of scientists and spies?”

Natasha looks down at her hands. “The last time I was in a real fight -- a real, highly-charged, important fight -- there was no global adversary,” she says slowly. “It was my friends and teammates having a disagreement about where we fit in the world -- where we fit with each other. We acted like children. Some people take their arguments outside, but we took ours to an airport tarmac. We almost killed each other for no reason.”

“So what was the problem?” Shuri asks, still concentrating on her work.

“The problem…” Natasha trails off. “You read my file. The problem is, I’ve spent my whole life fighting for threats that are world-level or country-level or just...just bigger than everything else. The lives of people I care about were almost destroyed recently, and for what? Personal gain?” She tries and fails to keep Wanda, Scott, and Clint out of her mind. “What happens to all the people whose lives were ruined by our actions?”

“You tell me,” Shuri replies, and Natasha realizes how easy it is to talk to her. Clint and Steve were the only people in her life that allowed her to speak so openly without judging her, and they knew more about her than Shuri did. She tries to find the rest of her words, and realizes she’s coming up blank.

“Come with me,” Shuri says when the silence keeps stretching. “I have something I think you will be interested in seeing.”

Natasha gets up and follows Shuri out of the room. “I don’t want to interrupt your work,” she says as they move through the facility, suddenly feeling like she’s less of a visitor and more of an intruder.

Shuri rolls her eyes. “Please. Everyone needs a break once in awhile.”

The room that Shuri leads her to, which she has to swipe them into, is filled with more gadgets and systems. “I wasn’t going to show you this,” Shuri says with a hint of warning. “But you’ve been here for a few days now and I think you should see it.”

Even though Natasha doesn’t know that much about Wakandan technology, she can tell that all of the weapons she’s looking at are much more advanced than what Shuri had been fiddling with in her lab. Natasha tries to take it all in, because it’s been awhile since she’s marveled at things without wondering if there was a malicious intent behind it.

“What is all this?”

Shuri smiles. “I call it ‘Avengers 5.’” She giggles, putting a hand over her mouth. “When my brother told me he was now an Avenger, I researched some video footage from that fight you were talking about. You were all good at hitting each other, but --”

“But?” Natasha prompts.

“But, you could have better weapons. So I got bored one day and started making some new things.” She perches on the edge of one of the high tables, looking thoughtful. “When Kilmonger came to our country and ignited war among our tribes, it was the first time I realized I had a duty to protect something more than my work or my family. I had to protect my country. An outsider came to us, knowing things about us, and we were lucky that we could rally to protect ourselves with what we had. Maybe other people would not have been so lucky.”

Natasha shakes her head, trying to understand Shuri’s words. “So these are...for everyone?”

“Not for everyone,” Shuri clarifies. “These are not weapons to use casually. They are still being worked on, but when the time is right, yes -- my brother hopes that they can come in handy for your group if you have to fight again.”

Natasha leans back against the door, letting her eyes fall on a few long staffs that she assumes are more powerful than they look, some vibranium cuffs, and what Natasha surmises might be new prototypes for Steve’s shield. She walks forward, eyeing a collection of batons that look similar to the ones she’s been using for years. “These are all incredible,” she says, because even without touching anything, she can tell how intricately and sharply designed everything is.

Shuri smiles. “It is fun for me. I’ve been experimenting with vibranium my whole life.”

Natasha bites back a laugh. “I’ve been experimented _on_ my whole life,” she says bitterly, the words coming out before she can stop them.

Shuri gives her a curious look. “Do you want to get dinner later, after I finish some more work? Maybe we can try that In-N-Out place?”

Natasha’s lips curl into a smile. “Yeah,” she decides with a nod. “I think that would be good.”

 

***

 

Natasha is the one who decides to get take-out since according to GPS there’s actually an In-N-Out location about ten minutes away from the building by walking. Shuri insists on coming with her, however, so she can see this fast food fad for herself. She delights in ordering a burger from the secret menu once Natasha mentions it, orders her fries animal style, and is giddy and excited on the way home. The mood that Shuri exhibits is so freeing and open that Natasha starts to feel sad, because she wonders if she would have ever been this way if she hadn’t been forced onto a path that left her cynical and worn. Had the Red Room not been what it was, she could have learned how to run outreach missions and be a spy for good, like Shuri talked about with Nakia. Or she could have learned ways to create gadgets, like Shuri.

Instead of sitting in Natasha’s borrowed room or in Shuri’s office, Shuri takes them to the roof of the building and they sit together eating under the inky night sky.

“You said you were experimented on,” Shuri says, digging into her fries. “Is that from the Red Room stuff that was in your files?”

Natasha nods. “Yeah. I was...I was taken into that program when I was a kid. They trained me and forced me to be this person who was supposed to kill people and do bad things. And then I was supposed to train people because I was so good at what I did.” She stops and thinks of Clint, the boy that looked so damn young on the other end of the bow and arrow pointed at her, not yet hardened to the ways of death or worry or brainwashing. “It was by chance that I was brought here and helped by SHIELD. Just a lucky break.” She stops talking and reaches into the pockets of her sweatshirt, taking out a small bottle of Jack Daniels. As she tips the bottle back, she notices Shuri eyeing her.

“I can help with that, if you want.”

Natasha swallows a mouthful of whiskey. “How old are you again?”

Shuri smiles smugly, in a way that implies she’s used to talking herself into getting what she wants. “Sixteen.”

Natasha laughs. “Yeah, no. I don’t know if they have different age limits in Wakanda, but this is California, and I’m not letting you get in trouble on my behalf. Nice try, though.”

“This is California. Weed and same-sex marriage is legal,” Shuri says before taking another bite of her burger. “Earlier in the lab you also said that you spent your life fighting big threats. Then you said when you came here that you were running missions. So those were not big threats?”

Natasha takes another swig of whiskey and puts down the bottle. “They were,” she says, because she can’t lie about the magnitude of what Steve and Sam had been helping her with. Chitauri weapons were no joke when it came to how they were being transported. “But I’ve done this before. I’m used to being displaced and being on my own and coming back together and fighting, and...and for some reason, this felt different.” She plays with the greasy edges of her burger wrapper and thinks about Hydra. “I want to protect the people I care about. But I feel like I’m operating on this abstract level, fighting for causes that won’t help anyone. I don’t feel like I’m helping _anyone_.”

“Well.” Shuri stretches out her legs and leans forward nimbly. “It sounds to me like you need to find some sort of purpose. Maybe without beating people up.”

Natasha tries to smile. “You seem to have a purpose here. With this outreach program.”

Shuri nods. “My brother was good at realizing what would make me happy. It took him awhile, though. He was not always so astute. Right now, yes, I have a purpose. I share our technology with other people who are less fortunate and try to help them learn. I have a purpose at home, too. I design technology and help my country.”

“I wish I knew what my purpose was,” Natasha admits. “I thought it was wiping all of this red out of my ledger and becoming a better person, but…” Tony’s last words and his cutting remarks flash through her brain. “But I don’t know if anyone even believed I had ever changed. I thought it was fighting for an organization that believed in me, then that blew up and I realized I was fighting for nothing but traitorous ideals. I thought it was fighting for our country, but then I found out I was just fighting for everyone else’s issues. I thought it was fighting to keep the world safe, but I don’t think I’m doing enough to feel like I’m making a difference.” She stops to take a breath, realizing she’s talking fast and without thinking. Shuri reaches out and puts a hand on her shoulder, and Natasha looks up in surprise at the gentle touch.

“I will tell you what I have learned from growing up as the little half-sister of a man who is supposed to be king,” she says seriously. “You _never_ feel like you are doing enough. But if you believe that you are making a difference, you _are_ doing enough.”

 

***

 

Later that night, when Natasha is warm from alcohol and a conversation that’s made her feel more reflective than usual, she reaches for her cell phone and scrolls until she finds the number of Clint’s burner, the one he’s had for years, the one that no one else knows about except Laura, the one he keeps at home and never takes with him just in case he has to call in for an emergency.

“Hey,” she says when he picks up the phone, trying to sound casual. After all, there’s no real emergency other than her dumb mental state. And it’s late there, which means he may not even be fully awake, though Natasha knows better when it comes to that house. “How are you?”

Clint’s breath hitches and he can tell he’s surprised to hear from her, even though he had obviously known who was calling. “So far, so good. You okay?”

“Yeah,” Natasha lies. She waits for Clint to call her out on it because he will, even long distance.

“You know you can tell me if you’re not.”

“And you know you can tell me if you’re not,” Natasha says pointedly. Clint doesn’t respond and Natasha suddenly feels tired, her charade falling away. What the point of calling if she was going to sit here in silence and just confirm that he wasn’t dead because of their stupid decisions almost a month ago?

“I dyed my hair blonde.”

“That’s it?” Clint asks. “I’ll probably hate it the next time I see you, but that’s not exactly emergency-middle-of-the-night-calling territory.”

“Steve seemed to think so when he first saw me,” Natasha mutters. “I cut it, too. It’s short again.”

“Alright, well, that I can deal with,” Clint answers. Natasha listens as he walks down the steps in his house, presumably walking into another room.

“I ditched Sam and Steve,” she says finally. “We were chasing Chitauri tech, trying to keep it out of the hands of terrorist cells, but I got bored. So I came to California.”

“California? What, the girl who lets off steam by running off and blowing things up in another country needed some sunshine and beach tanning?”

“I don’t suppose you’ve been following the news about our friend the Black Panther,” Natasha says, not acknowledging his sarcasm.

Clint grunts. “I heard a few things on the news. Something about a press conference where Wakanda is trying to offer assistance, but I’ve trying to actually be retired now. So mostly, it’s Paw Patrol and baby food.”

“Too much Paw Patrol can be damaging,” Natasha warns. “There’s a Wakanda Outreach program in Oakland, run by T’Challa’s sister Shuri. I wanted to see what they were doing and...like I said, I needed a break.”

“So what are they doing?” Clint asks in between crunching noises, and Natasha knows he’s probably sitting on the floor of the pantry and stress eating a bag of potato chips at two in the morning.

“Mostly, just what they’re supposed to be doing,” Natasha responds. “Helping inner city kids by teaching them about technology, running some outreach spy missions. And making weapons.”

“Weapons?” Clint asks, his interest clearly piqued.

“Not like that,” Natasha assures him, knowing he’s probably thinking of Ultron. “Shuri is...somewhat of a prodigy. She’s been working with vibranium for years, and she’s made some pretty impressive things that we can use if we go into a big battle again. Seriously, Clint. I don’t know much about technology, but these things make Tony’s tech look like baby toys.”

“Well, maybe she can work up a few high-tech home improvement devices if she gets bored,” Clint says jokingly. Natasha frowns, immediately catching the tone of his voice.

“Clint? Everything’s okay, right? You’d tell me if it wasn’t?”

Clint lets out a long sigh. “Yeah,” he admits between tense crunching. “Laura had a few scares. Some guy followed her home from the grocery store the other day, but we investigated and we’re pretty sure it was just a coincidence. Fury and Hill have been keeping watch and checking in more often than usual. The kids don’t know anything could be wrong, and we’re trying to keep it that way.”

Natasha closes her eyes in the dark. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Clint asks. “This isn’t your fault. Laura’s known for years that she took a risk shacking up with a SHIELD agent.”

“It feels like it’s my fault,” Natasha says quietly. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have been in the Raft. If I hadn’t gotten so caught up in fighting for something stupid, your family would be safe.”

“You?” Clint asks with a sigh. “Look, Natasha...Nat.” He drops his voice. “You did nothing wrong, okay? Yeah, we all made mistakes on that tarmac. We were all fighting for something stupid. We could have easily avoided Ross putting us away if we just _talked_ and protected ourselves instead of throwing shit and teaming up with whoever called first.”

“ _I_ could’ve called first,” Natasha blurts out, her eyes burning against her will. “I could have called you, and Steve wouldn’t have had to make the call, and you would’ve been on my side and not in jail --”

“Natasha,” Clint says firmly. “Jesus Christ, _stop_. It sounds like you’re losing it and that’s the last thing I’d expect from you right now.”

Natasha does stop, because she realizes he has a point. She turns over in bed, staring at the blank walls. “I wish you were here.”

“I could be,” Clint says, even though Natasha can tell he’s just saying it to be nice. However much he would have wanted to join up with her weeks ago, Clint was a family man. He’d spent years protecting Laura and his children and their homestead, and he’d never abandon them without a good reason. Not again. And especially not now, when it wasn’t even clear if they were even safe.

“No, you can’t,” Natasha says heavily. “And that’s okay. We’re all doing what we need to do to survive right now, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Clint says, and it sounds like he’s trying to go along with her tone to lighten the mood. “Hours of Paw Patrol for everyone.”

Natasha manages to laugh. “You’ve still got that device, right?”

“Of course,” Clint replies. “If anything goes sideways or if we need you...we’ll call, I promise. I wouldn’t leave you in the dark.”

“I appreciate it,” Natasha says, stifling a yawn. Clint hums into the phone.

“Go to bed. You sound tired.”

“I’m on West Coast time,” she grumbles, her face half obscured by her pillow. “What’s _your_ excuse, old man? It’s like, two in the morning there.”

“A seven year old who doesn’t sleep past seven, a five year old who wakes me up by jumping on my legs, and an almost one-and-a-half year old who screams every five minutes,” Clint answers. “Goodnight, Nat.”

Natasha smiles again. “Night, Clint.”

 

***

 

Two days after her conversation with Clint, Natasha wanders around the neighborhood for no reason other than wanting some fresh air and a new perspective. She pulls her blonde hair into a passable short ponytail and walks by children playing basketball in public spaces, bodegas with cats that wander in and out of the fruit stands lining the sidewalk, and a few abandoned buildings. When she gets back to Shuri’s building, she finds the young girl standing at the door, bouncing from one foot to the other in rapt excitement.

“There you are!” Shuri exclaims as she lets Natasha in. “I have something to show you.”

“Another new weapon?” Natasha asks, wondering why Shuri would be so excited about making something for someone who she barely knew outside of a few stray confessions on a dark roof.

“It is more than a weapon,” Shuri declares, leading Natasha into her design room. “Look at it!”

Natasha doesn’t know what she’s looking at, not until Shuri takes the two batons that are lying on the table and picks them up. She taps them together briskly, and Natasha watches in awe as vibranium fuses the two pieces together to form one long staff. The same blue courses through the staff in random pulses, and Natasha reaches forward tentatively.

“They come apart, just like that,” Shuri says as Natasha takes the staff. True to her word, when Natasha flicks her wrists, the staff returns to being two seperate pieces. “It is created with vibranium, so it can withstand being hit with even the most deadly firepower. And it is similar to what I did for my brother’s new suit; the vibranium in the staff absorbs power when you are taking hits. When it is charged enough, whatever you hit will cause a powerful charge back.”

Natasha stares at the weapon, running her fingers over the batons. “This is…” Natasha trails off, hoping she’s not going to speak and make assumptions. “This is for me?”

“Well, not now,” Shuri says with a smile. “But when you need them, they will be yours. I saw you looking at them yesterday. I can tell when someone sees something they like. And then I called my brother and he said you used to fight with some batons. These are an improvement, if I do say so myself.”

Natasha swallows. “Thank you,” she says, putting the batons down. “But honestly, this seems like a bit much. The only thing I’ve given you in the really short time since I’ve dropped into your world is a recommendation for California’s cheapest burger place. And you’ve given me an entirely new weapon.”

“Do not make me sound like a boring workaholic with no life,” Shuri warns. “My own parents already think I work too much. They get this a lot.” She holds up her middle finger and against her better judgement, Natasha laughs.

“Trust me, I already tell my partner that all the time. It’s a lost cause to shove it on someone else.”

Shuri inclines her head. “Your partner? He is not the vibranium guy who my brother brought me, is he? Or the broken one?”

Natasha chokes back a laugh. “Not really,” she says, knowing Shuri doesn’t know how loaded her question is. Maybe Bucky’s history was a story for another time, when she knew he was okay and both of them had a relationship built on more than burgers and shared universes. “He’s called Hawkeye. His real name is Clint. He’s one of the people who was captured after that fight in Europe.”

“And where is he now?” Shuri asks.

“Home,” Natasha replies. “Home with his family, which is where he should have been this whole time. We called him into our fight because we needed him, and because we knew he’d come. But he’s not fighting now.”

“He is with the people he needs to take care of, then,” says Shuri. “That is good.”

“Yeah.” Natasha looks down at the ground and smiles. “It is good.” She pauses. “You mentioned before that you were looking for young people who are interested in science and technology, to bring them here and teach them.”

“Yes,” says Shuri. “At least, that is our goal.”

Natasha nods. “Try a kid named Peter Parker. He goes to high school in Queens, New York. I think he’d know a few people who might be interested in seeing what you do.”

 

***

 

Later that day, she tells Shuri she’s going out, and finds a bus that takes her to Crown Memorial State Beach in Alameda. She sits down next to the water, filtering sand through her fingers, and takes in the unobstructed San Francisco skyline.

She calls Steve.

“How’s Iraq?” she asks cheekily when he answers. Steve laughs into the phone.

“Iraq was _so_ 2018,” Steve replies mockingly. “Try Ethiopia.”

“Ouch,” Natasha says, wincing. “So these guys really were everywhere.”

“Yes and no,” Steve says. “Sam and I been here for a couple of days, just regrouping. We think we got a good lock on all the Chitauri stuff, at least for now. So we’ve been figuring out our next plan of action.”

“Next plan of action?” Natasha asks, shielding her eyes against the sun beating down on her face.

“Yeah. Remember those stones that we were talking about after Ultron? The ones that have been randomly popping up?”

“Yes,” Natasha says, playing with more sand. “But I thought Thor went to look for them.”

“And it’s been two years, so where do you think he’s been?” Steve asks. “I don’t know whether or not he found anything. But Fury got in touch with us a few days ago -- no idea how he even found out where _we_ were, but that’s Fury, I guess. He warned us that things were heating up and we should be ready to get back in the game.”

“Cryptic _and_ threatening. That’s so Fury, I want to roll my eyes,” Natasha says.

Steve laughs. “Yeah, it is. But I think he was serious. I think we’re going to have to be ready to suit back up at some point soon, just...I’m not sure when. And we’re still not legally allowed to be Avengers.”

“No,” Natasha says. “We’re not. But that doesn’t mean we can’t answer the call when it comes, right?”

“Well, well, well.” Steve sounds amused. “Is someone ready to get back in the game?”

Natasha smiles at the ocean. “Not exactly,” she admits. “I think I still need to figure myself out before I run back into battle, especially if it’s a battle against some huge global cause. I need to get back to my roots and find out how to trust myself again before I align myself with everyone, if we’re all going to come back together.”

“Well, you have the right idea,” Steve says. “How’s California?”

"How's your beard?" 

"I asked you first," Steve says, sounding amused. "And my beard is fine, thank you."

"Well, California is fine," Natasha replies. "It's quiet. Interesting."

“Interesting, huh?”

Natasha stays silent, wondering whether or not she should say anything. After all, it’s not exactly her place to tell Steve that if they were to fight again, they wouldn’t have to do it bare-handedly.

“Shuri is very capable,” Natasha decides.

Steve snorts. “Yeah, well. Her brother is the king of a country that holds the most powerful metal on earth. I think she’d be pretty capable at anything if she grew up there.”

Natasha lets herself fall back onto the sand, allowing her blonde strands sink into the light, warm grains. “If you ever want some California sunshine, you know where to find me.”

“Oakland isn’t exactly where I’d want to go to let off some steam,” Steve points out.

“No,” Natasha agrees. “It’s not where you’d want to go. But I think Shuri really wants to go to Coachella based on the posters in her office, so if you’d like to start that whole ‘let’s do whatever I missed in the last 90 years’ stuff again, I’m sure she’d want a buddy.”

Steve sighs. “You know you can’t hide forever, right?”

“And what makes you think I’m hiding?” Natasha asks. “Thor is still away. Clint is still away. Tony is still away. No one is rushing back to the game just because. You know me. I’ll come _back_ , Steve. I promise. Just give me a little more time while we have it.”

She hangs up, closing her eyes

_I’ll come back._

Like she always came back. Like Clint always came back. Like people would fly away to outer space, but always come back. One day, it was all going to bite her into the ass, and there would be nothing to come back to -- no team, no friends, no safe part of the world where she could run off to and pretend to sort herself out. No second home farm in Iowa where she could forget to be a superhero while kids clung to her ankles and smeared mashed potatoes all over her clothes, no boltholes in the middle of nowhere that no one else knew about.

She’s known this for years -- she’d known since Nick and Clint sat her down and explained that this may not always be forever -- but it’s only recently that she’s started to accept it.

 

***

 

Shuri’s working when Natasha gets back. She waves at Natasha as she enters the building, and Natasha waves back with a smile.

“How was the beach?” she calls out from her work station. Natasha is about to ask how Shuri knows where she went when she realizes that there must still be sand stuck to the exposed parts of her skin, not to mention a hint of sunburn dotting her fair flesh.

“Good,” she says. “It was...it was nice to get away for a bit.” She walks into Shuri’s lab and sits down in one of the empty chairs, fiddling with the sleeves of her shirt while Shuri inspects a large gauntlet. “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to stay here, but I’d like to see more of what you guys are doing. I mean, if I can.”

“You’re the first non-annoying white girl that I’ve met, so you can probably stay,” Shuri says with a small smile. “You have somewhere to be?”

Natasha thinks of Steve’s phone call. _Not yet._ “No,” she says. “I mean, I do have places I can go, I guess.” She thinks of Clint’s farm, and Steve and Sam, and she wonders if Rhodey has made any progress with his injury. She wonders if Wanda has been able to hide in Europe, if Scott had made the right decision about potentially turning himself in so he could be with his daughter. She even thinks about Tony and wonders if he’s done any more tinkering, or if he’s gone back to the bottle -- neither option would surprise her right now.

“So stay,” Shuri suggests. “Maybe you can help me with some new designs for Avenger stuff. And Nakia will be back soon to check in, if you would like to talk to her. She would be excited to learn about your spy history, I think. Maybe she can even learn things from you.”

“Maybe,” Natasha echoes, realizing how nice it feels to know that someone might want to learn about her life and use it to do better things, like she had once hoped she could do at SHIELD. Perhaps there was a way to feel useful after all.

Besides, if Fury was right and if the world really was preparing for some “all hands on deck event,” she might as well go back into the fight feeling like she has something to offer other than regret, guilt, and a dark past.

“So other than asking for more food recommendations, what can I do for Natasha Romanoff today?”

Natasha bites down on her lip. “You said you made T’Challa a new suit.”

“Yes,” Shuri says proudly. “I did. Remind me to show you the video of him trying it out. It’s the best meme on the Internet. Over 24 million views on YouTube.”

“Well,” Natasha says slowly. “I know you made all those new weapons. And I’d hate for you to feel like I’m taking advantage, but...I think if we’re going into battle with new gear, we might need some new suits eventually, too.”

“Hmmm.” Shuri sounds intrigued and as she straightens up, Natasha can almost see the muscles in her brain working, the synapses firing on all levels as various ideas float through her mind. “Like some upgrades?”

“Yeah,” Natasha decides, thinking of the suit she’s been wearing different variations of for years that’s changed almost as much as her hair has. “Like some upgrades.”

“Another know-it-all white girl giving me ideas that will keep me busy,” Shuri says with an approving nod. “Let me see what I can do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr for fic and more @isjustprogress.


End file.
